


Silent Treatment

by yuletide_archivist



Category: MASH (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-14
Updated: 2007-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye takes a vow of silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Treatment

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Josan for the beta!
> 
> Written for Propaganda

 

 

 

 

It was after nine straight hours of non-stop surgery, in the sweltering mid-summer heat, that Margaret Houlihan finally blew her cool.

_"A man woke up in a hospital after a serious accident. Scalpel. So this guy, he shouts, 'Doctor, doctor! I can't feel my legs!' And the doctor--clamp that, will you?--the doctor replies, 'I know you can't--I've cut off your arms!"_

To some, who had been roasting in the operating room with hardly a break, listening to the endless barrage of bad jokes, her actions were hardly a surprise, and none of them blamed her.

 _"Nurse Abel, what's five Q plus five Q?"_  
"Ten Q, doctor?"  
"You're welcome, nurse!"

To others, who had been chuckling or at least smiling fondly behind their surgical masks as they worked, or hurried in and out of the room carrying equipment, wounded men, or water for the surgeons, her reaction had perhaps been a little over the top.

You see, Dr. Benjamin 'Hawkeye' Pierce was on a roll.

He had received a package from his father the previous day. He had duly shared the cookies (a bit dry and crumbly, but which tasted like heaven to people who'd grown used to the only semi-edible rations served in the mess). The package had also contained priceless works of literature: newspapers, magazines, a few issues of Reader's Digest, which Hawkeye had also shared magnanimously.

_"What did the chicken say when she got to the library? Book, book, book, book, book..."_

The joke book, though, he'd kept for himself.

He'd apparently stayed up all night reading, and memorizing, for as soon as they'd all sat down to breakfast that morning he'd started in with the gags. Non stop. Dozens of them.

For once everyone had been rather relieved when Radar announced choppers incoming, but the relief was short-lived as Hawkeye chose to regale the operating room with the best and the corniest of the lot.

 _"Hey, Beej, have you heard about the henway?"_  
"Okay, I'll bite. What's a henway?"  
"Oh, about two and a half pounds."

So as the barrage of patients was trickling down, Margaret's patience was wearing about as thin as Hawkeye's punch lines.

_"What about the two silk worms who decided to have a race?"_

The entire operating room called out, "They ended up in a tie!"

Hawkeye looked up from his patient. "I already did that one, huh?"

"Only a few dozen times," said BJ.

"Oh, well then how about--"

"No!" shouted Margaret, at the end of her rope. "For God's sake, no more jokes! No more chickens crossing roads, no more travelling salesmen, no more talking gorillas."

"Don't forget the dog who thought he was Abe Lincoln," said BJ.

"Oh, pipe down, Hunnicutt," said Frank Burns from the other end of the room. "I think Margaret's right. It's hard enough to concentrate in here without Doctor Jack Benny running off at the mouth."

"Oh, cute, Frank," Hawkeye retorted. "Think that one up all by yourself?"

"Well at least he doesn't have to get his so-called humor from a book!" said Margaret.

"All right," came the annoyed voice of Colonel Potter. "We seem to have run out of patients at last; I know I certainly have."

"Good one, Colonel!" said Hawkeye.

"Quiet, Pierce," said Potter. "I want to see you and Margaret outside as soon as you're done here."

As the CO stormed out of the operating room, Frank said in a small, gleeful voice, "You're going to get in trouble."

"Stuff it, Frank."

O*O*O*O

Colonel Potter sat on the bench outside the OR, massaging his weary eyes. When he looked up, there was a sheepish doctor and a fuming nurse standing before him. "You two want to tell me what that was all about?"

Margaret whipped off her blood-stained surgical gown, tossing it into the nearby hamper. "I'm sick of listening to this motor-mouth, that's what," she said. "All day long, hour after hour of his disgusting attempts at humor."

"Oh, come on, Margaret," said Hawkeye. "Don't you think you're exaggerating just a smidgen?"

"No, Hawkeye, she does have a point," said Potter tiredly. "From now on, cut down on the clowning while we're in the OR."

"Fine," said Hawkeye. "You try to lighten up the atmosphere a little, and you get nothing but rotten tomatoes."

"Rotten tomatoes?" asked BJ, entering the room and stripping off his own soiled garments. "The food in the mess hall must be improving."

Hawkeye wheeled on his friend. "You tell 'em, Beej. Nothing livens things up like a good joke, right?"

"If you say so," BJ replied. "Though I would have preferred to focus on livening up my patients."

"All I'm asking for," interrupted Margaret, "is a little peace and quiet for once. Not," she added scornfully, "that I'll ever get that with Pierce around."

"Oh yeah?" said Hawkeye. "I can be as quiet as the next guy."

She snorted. "If the next guy has a bullhorn, maybe."

Hawkeye's eyes narrowed. "We'll see about that. From now on, you're looking at the new, silent, Hawkeye Pierce."

"Really," said Margaret, arching an eyebrow. "I'll believe that when I _don't_ hear it."

In response, Hawkeye drew an imaginary zipper across his lips, tossed his head dramatically, and flounced out the door.

Klinger and Zale, who had been standing just outside, looked at each other.

"Ten bucks says he doesn't make it one day," said Klinger.

"You're on."

O*O*O*O

By the following morning, the whole camp knew about Hawkeye's silent treatment, and most shared Klinger's view of things. After all, there were only two certainties at the 4077th--war was hell, and Hawkeye Pierce was always there with a quip or a wise crack to brighten things up.

Only now, an unaccustomed and uncomfortable silence filled the camp. No off-key singing in the shower, no loud harangues at Frank Burns, no bad Groucho Marx impersonations in post-op.

By the second day, people were starting to get antsy. Hawkeye, however, seemed to be keeping his silent act together surprisingly well.

Admittedly, he had help. For instance, at lunch he'd entered the mess followed by BJ, who was greatly enjoying the whole situation. Hawkeye had approached the head of the line, waiting patiently for Igor to finish serving one of the nurses. When the mess sergeant turned to him, Hawkeye pointed at various unappetizing foodstuffs.

"What was that, sir?" asked Igor, who had some money riding on this himself. "I couldn't quite make it out."

"That's okay," said BJ. "I can't quite make it out myself, but it looks vaguely like corned beef. My mute friend here and I will have a little of everything."

Later, at the table, Hawkeye had to suffer even more indignities, as a crowded mess hall had led to his being seated across the table from Majors Houlihan and Burns. He concentrated on eating while they gleefully noted how quiet and peaceful the camp was now.

"Birds chirping," Frank sighed. "Flags waving. No grating, nasal voice drowning everything out. It's like heaven."

The others at the table kept stealing glances at the chief surgeon, expecting him to blow his cool, or at least come out with insults blazing but, to everyone's disappointment, he simply finished his meal in silence. When he was done, he calmly stood up and, crossing to the other side of the table, dumped the cooling remains of his coffee into Frank Burns' lap.

As the Major sputtered in fury, BJ smiled and said, "Hawk says 'Sorry about that, Frank,'" and followed his friend out of the tent.

O*O*O*O

Three days, and the camp was starting to wonder not _when_ Hawkeye was going to speak again, but what great calamity was going to make him break his self-imposed vow of silence.

Colonel Potter was wondering this as well. Things had settled down after their last load of casualties and Hawkeye, who'd been on night shifts this week, was a capable enough doctor to have managed his post-op duties without a word (with the help of several nurses who, it had to be admitted, knew Hawkeye Pierce's body language quite well). He might, however, do well to nip this latest flight of fancy in the bud before things got out of hand.

"Radar," he called from his office. "Have Hawkeye come in--"

"Hawkeye's here to see you," said Radar, ushering the man into the Colonel's office.

"Right," said Potter. "Thank you, Radar. Now, Hawkeye, would you mind telling me how much longer this little escapade of yours is going to go on?"

Hawkeye shrugged.

"The reason I've let it go on even this long is that we haven't been busy," Potter continued. "And God knows you need to let off steam as much as anyone else. But as soon as we get a fresh batch of wounded, I'll need you in the OR. And I have no use for a surgeon who has to _mime_ his way through an operation. Comprende?"

Hawkeye nodded.

Colonel Potter sighed. "You've made your point, you know. We all understand. We're all impressed. But we all have our limits, too, so don't push us too far."

Hawkeye smiled and nodded again. Then he saluted, turned on his heels, and marched out of the office.

Potter watched him go, shaking his head. Of all the crazy outfits in this man's army....

"Radar?" he called.

"Here you go, sir," said his company clerk, coming in with a glass of fizzing antacid.

"Better make it a double."

O*O*O*O

"I'll take two."

"Four."

"Dammit, I'm out."

"And dealer takes one," said BJ, deftly slipping the card into his hand and studying the results with little enthusiasm.

The Swamp was brightly lit, the still was in good working order, and the weekly poker game was getting underway. The regulars were hunched around the card table; Radar was sticking close to Hawkeye, having been hired as interpreter for the evening in exchange for a couple of magazines which had definitely not been in Hawkeye's latest care package.

"All right," said Margaret, most emphatically not looking towards Frank Burns' bunk, where the latter was studiously writing a letter to his wife and most emphatically not sneaking glances at Margaret when nobody was looking. "I'll call."

Radar looked at Hawkeye's cards, and his eyes widened. "Wow!"

With groans and grumbles, everyone folded. Hawkeye glared at Radar, who blushed.

"Sorry."

With a glare of her own, Margaret handed the cards to Father Mulcahy, who shuffled and passed them out. As everyone picked up their cards, Radar said, "Hawk says 'thank you,' Father.'

"Oh, for Pete's sake," muttered Margaret.

Hawkeye looked at Radar, who reddened again. "Are you crazy? I can't say that to a Major of the opposite sex! She'll have me court-martialed!"

Margaret stiffened. "It's okay, Corporal. I can guess. Pierce, this is getting ridiculous. All right, I admit, you managed to keep quiet a lot longer than I gave you credit for. Now, can you stop this ridiculous silent treatment please?"

"After all," added Father Mulcahy, "we _are_ supposed to turn the other cheek."

With a mischievous grin, Hawkeye stood and moved to unfasten his trousers.

"Pierce!" shrieked Margaret.

Mulcahy laughed, waving a hand at Hawkeye. "That's quite all right, Hawkeye. I take it back."

Hawkeye sat down again, and picked up his cards. With a warning glance, he showed them to Radar, who said, "He'll check."

O*O*O*O

Much later that evening, when the company had all departed for richer or poorer, Hawkeye and BJ were getting ready to settle in for the night when the latter said, "Hey Hawk?"

Hawkeye raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Don't you think Margaret's right?"

Hawkeye rolled his eyes.

"No, I mean it. You've proven that even you can keep quiet for an extended period of time. I think it's time you started talking again."

BJ had grown accustomed to interpreting Hawkeye's looks in the past few days, and this one was definitely saying 'Oh yeah? Make me.'

BJ was never one to shrink from a challenge. "Maybe we're all better off this way, though. I mean, your jokes _are_ awful."

Now the look said 'You have to do better than _that_ '.

"And heck, even Frank's a better conversationalist than you."

They both looked at the Major's cot, where obnoxious snores were emanating from under a pile of blankets. Then Hawkeye looked back at BJ, smiling sardonically. 'No dice.'

"The nurses are happy that you're not using your old lines on them any more," BJ tried again. "Besides, they all say you're a rotten kisser."

Eyes flashed, but still no words.

A wicked idea crossed BJ's mind. "Then again, maybe I should find out for myself."

With a quick glance around them, BJ leaned over and placed a long, lingering kiss on Hawkeye's mouth.

Hawkeye's eyes were wide when they parted, and he whispered hoarsely, "What the hell?"

BJ grinned. And then chuckled when realization dawned on Hawkeye's face. He'd been had.

"BJ?" Hawkeye demanded.

But BJ just went to his own cot, slipping under the covers and turning his back on Hawkeye, stifling a laugh into his pillow.

"Beej?"

O*O*O*O

"So," said Margaret smugly over breakfast the following morning. "You finally came to your senses."

"Looks that way," said Hawkeye distractedly. He was staring suspiciously at BJ Hunnicutt.

"What's the matter?' asked BJ innocently. "Cat got your tongue?"

"No," replied Hawkeye. "I think I got the cat's, actually."

BJ laughed, then got up with his empty tray. Hawkeye stood, too, and looped an arm casually across BJ's shoulders.

"So," he said as they left the mess tent together. "Have you heard the one about the three goats and the bartender..."

THE END

 

 

 


End file.
